


Drunken Confessions

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request:  Could you do one where the reader gets a little too drunk and decides to take out her pent up frustration (mainly because of her lack of attention from dear Jask) on some haters who were being rude to him about his singing? And ends up almost getting into a massive fight while screaming about how shes got the hots for Jaskier in a bar full of people?
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader
Kudos: 3





	Drunken Confessions

The problem was, men were bastards. The men around you in the  
tavern, the men from your hometown, and definitely the man who sat next to you. Stupid, beautiful bard with his stupid, beautiful face and voice and hands and everything. If it weren’t for the fact that you knew Jaskier was a genuine, trustworthy man and a good friend (though – and you cannot emphasize this enough – a bastard) you would think he’d been intentionally driving you mad. The way he smiled at you. The way he focused on your face, giving you unrelenting attention as you spoke and looking at you like you were the most interesting person in the world. The way he unbuttoned those top buttons on his undershirt, giving you that thirst inducing peek of chest hair. Why did that even work for you anyway? Never in your life had you given a single thought to the presence or absence of hair on men and suddenly you found yourself dreaming about resting your head on his chest or raking your fingers through it as you… well… there was no point going there, it was never going to happen. And that was why you were the biggest bastard of all; wanting things you couldn’t have and not having the sense to let go of them.

“The old songs were better,” a voice pipes up. You turn to find who was speaking, the room spinning just a little as you move your head.

“I mean you can’t say he’s a one hit wonder, he does have the other song.”  
“Yes but you have to admit, the songs are shit since he stopped journeying with  
the witcher.”

“What happened there anyway? When do we get that song?”

“What? The song of how the Butcher of Blavekin finally dropped the dead weight?”

The man is laughing as though he’s made the cleverest joke and you launch yourself at him, both hands landing hard on the table, knocking over the man’s ale and wiping the smile off his face.

“Oy,” you roar, louder than you realize, “What the fuck do you know about it anyway?”

“You’re drunk,” the man says dismissively.

“I may be drunk but you’re a damn fool and a prick besides. You feel so smug, do you? Sitting there and making stupid claims about a man with more talent in one of his perfect eyelashes than in your entire foul existence.”

Your gaze is withering, your breath pungent and wine-soured, your rage burning like a thousand flames.

“Just a difference of musical opinion, don’t get your panties in a twist,” the man sniffs. You climb onto the table, kneeling in front of him on your hands and knees, panting with the effort it’s taken to get up there.

“I would challenge you to a duel but your blood doesn’t deserve to pollute even my worst sword. That man is a fucking delight. He has the voice of an angel, the body of an Adonis, the pelt of a beautiful otter, the hands of a fucking thing that has good hands and you and Geralt and everybody else doesn’t even deserve him. Jaskier dropped the weight when he left that sour pile of – of – of – STUFF! And I get to take that place now and I get to see him but not touch him like some sort of curse and blessing all in one and I swear to all the gods if I hear anyone ever speak ill or laugh at the man I love again I will run them through and leave their snarling, mocking heads along the walls of the city!”

The tavern is eerily silent when you’re through and you realize you may have been louder than you expected. You feel a pair of arms grasp the sides of your waist and work to pull you off of the table. You kick futilely but let yourself be carried away, squinting challengingly at anyone who eyes you as you go. It isn’t until you’re outside in the bracing cold that you realize Jaskier is the one who pulled you away and now stands next to you staring at you incredulously.

“What?” you ask.

“Your worst sword eh?” he asks.

“They deserve nothing more. And you know I have that one sword that’s all rusted and dried with blood,” you say as you plop down on the cobblestone ground, head spinning a bit. Jaskier sits next to you.

“A beautiful otter,” he quotes, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“They are quite beautiful you know. Graceful. Fluffy…”

“Fluffy,” he echoes. “Well I do not know what to say. I suppose I feel foolish, spending all this time keeping my own feelings a secret out of respect for you and not realizing that this whole time I could be open and honest about the love I… hold… Ah.”

His declaration falters as your head falls against his shoulder, utterly dead to the world and starting to drool a little on his shirt. He kisses your head gently and sighs. Whether or not you’d remember what all you’d said when you woke up, he knew now that he could finally perform the song he’d been hiding for weeks. Once your head stopped pounding.


End file.
